


Back In Black

by McMorpheus



Category: Supernatural, The Matrix (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:45:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McMorpheus/pseuds/McMorpheus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is missing and Sam and John have teamed up to look for him, but something strange is going on: Sam is seeing impossible things, and finding his brother only adds to his questions as he is introduced to a reality which is far more rich, terrifying and enigmatic than anything he could ever have imagined. Who is he, and what is his real purpose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back In Black

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening: Back in Black.

The scent of sulphur had always electrified Sam Winchester. It jumpstarted all of his senses so that they sparked and crystallised into bright sharp points of awareness, making everything slow down until he could see the creatures moving in freeze-frame moments like the bad guys in old films, strobe-light jump cuts highlighting the tiny cues which heralded an attack. Sometimes, it was almost as though he could see shimmering green trails leading to the creatures, lighting them up with quickly fading glyphs. But it only lasted for the time between one blink of an eye and the next, and Sam had learnt not to question it; after all, it was probably just demonic aura stuff.

                                       

He knew the motions so well that he didnt even have to think about it, and when the vampire leapt at him with sharp teeth gleaming he was already moving. The adrenaline pulsed through him like a crack of lightning and his hand whipped out, too fast to track; a second later, a head landed on the rough concrete floor with a thud and a spray of blood that painted the side of his face crimson. He grimaced and wiped at his cheek with his sleeve, before turning to survey the room with keen eyes that caught every flicker in the shadows, torch shining a thin silver beam through the stale air.

 

"Dad?" He called out into the gloom.

 

"I'm back here, Sam." Came the gruff reply from a far corner of the abandoned warehouse, and Sam followed it with knife raised.

 

He sniffed the air suspiciously, tasting the blood and sulphur, aware that the rest of the vampires, and the demon who was controlling them, were most likely still lurking. He had a wolf's instinct for these things, an animal hunger to kill everything which went bump in the night, and in his fighting capacity he had surpassed every hunter he knew - except for his father. His father, who swung a knife like he was operating on a mental clock that was one second fast. He fought like he knew every move the creatures would make ahead of time, and while the inhuman speed - greater even than Sam's own - did creep Sam out a little, the young man was fiercely proud of him.

 

John Winchester stepped out from behind a tall stack of boxes, wiped his dripping knife on the decaying wood and said "I got the demon, he was the last of 'em. Let's go." In a hoarse whisper, and motioned towards the door with the hand that wasn't covered in gore. The best way to describe him would be to say 'grizzled' and leave it at that. He had an easygoing smile when he deigned to put it on, but the steel underneath it was very real, and the streaks of white in his hair attested to his ability to survive in the life of a hunter; not many creatures had picked a fight with him and lived to regret it. John was a hard man, and he'd raised his sons in his image.

 

There was a faint rustle. They turned as one, raising bloody knives, and the fluidity of their shift into fighting stance betrayed the family resemblance, much better than any two headshots could have.

 

The vampire was the last of its pack, and it had nothing to lose by trying to get the meal the others had forfeited when they had let themselves be killed. A little revenge wouldn't go amiss either. It shot out of the darkness faster than most humans could track and made a beeline for the older man, baring its long white fangs in a horrific caricature of a smile. John ducked beneath its reaching hands and swivelled around it; the monster darted after him, and with an athletic twist he sidestepped it again, a capoeira dancer practising a stellar performance. A swift side cut to the chest brought it to a halt in shock, at which point Sam's knife severed its neck and it joined its brethren on the floor.

 

"You were saying?" Sam retorted coolly.

 

" _That_ was the last of them." 

 

A huffed chuckle and two nods later, they were in the cool night air and heading for the car. The purr of the Impala's engine, laden as it was with memories, was comforting after the long night of red alert work, and as the familiar smell of leather and petrol enveloped them as they sank back into their seats with relief.

 

"We did a good job back there, Sammy."

 

"Don't call me that."

 

A resigned sigh, and then"...Ok." 

The roar of the engine engulfed the occupants once more, uninterrupted. Sam did not get on well with his father. In fact, he would have preferred almost anyone else's company, but he was stuck with his old man until they could find Dean. Sam had been about to start college, get a normal life and forget the family business when John called with the gut-wrenching news that Dean was missing; Sam had dropped everything to join his father in the search for his brother, but almost a year had passed and every lead they found went cold. The one they were following right now seemed tenuous enough, and more than once Sam had wondered if Dean didn't want to be found - or worse, was dead. The truth was that he missed his brother; how could he not, when the man had practically raised him? The raw hole in the pit of his stomach clenched tighter with every month that passed without a trace of Dean, until he began to think that it might be better if he split with John and went his own way in search of Dean. Too many cases, not enough leads, and they could cover more ground apart. Of course, there was the fact that when he had told John about his plans to go to college instead of joining in the family business, the man had told him that if he left he could never come back.

 

John had always wanted him to be a hunter, had trained him all his life for the sole purpose of making a hunter out of him, and Sam's need for mundanity had always led to friction between them.  The satisfaction which the older man felt at Sam's combative talent grated on his nerves; John had won and they both knew it, Sam bristling but submissive under his paternal thumb.

 

 But Dean... Dean had always looked out for him. To be perfectly honest, Sam hadn't been sure how he could possibly lead a life separate from his brother, so to have him disappear before they could even say their goodbyes had filled him with guilt. All Sam could see ahead of him was the fall into a swirling black pit of monsters and murder with his bloodthirsty father dragging him on.

 

The night stretched ahead, and the Impala zoomed onwards towards a hot meal and a warm bed.

 

*                                 *                                   *

 

At 2am, Sam was still staring at the ceiling. He imagined the sparkling constellations above it, the perfect emptiness of uncaring space, but no matter how lofty his gaze grew, a face continued to shine out at him from behind the simulated stars. His brother, smiling around the pen in his mouth. His brother, laughing at his reaction to a prank. His brother, eyes sparkling at- his phone buzzed.

 

Sam glanced over at John and saw that he was still asleep, chest rising and falling in time with his snores. He pulled off the covers of the motel bed, oblivious to the colourful play of light from the flashing neon sign outside as it illuminated the sheets in a brief glowing mosaic, and grabbed his phone off of the bedside table.

 

_Meet me at Jen's Diner. I need to talk to you. DW._

 

That was it. That was the text that turned Sam Winchester's life upside down.

 

He was sure it was Dean; it was exactly the kind of terse command he was used to receiving from his brother, even though he didn’t recognise the number; but he was suspicious nonetheless. Why now? A whole year of radio silence, and now Dean wanted to meet up. Sam didn't trust this sudden communication one bit, but he couldn't resist the hope that it really was his brother. His stomach tightened with mixed excitement and apprehension, and he knew he had to go. 

 

*                             *                                 *

 

The sleek black car pulled up in front of Jen's All Night Diner with a predatory purr cut short by the ignition being switched off, and Sam stepped out into the glow of the diner's porch lights. In his jacket he had salt, a silver knife, gun loaded with iron bullets, and a small wooden stake tucked into his boot for good measure. He had come prepared for whatever horror might have taken his brother's body, but he had also brought along a tiny hope that it was who it said on the tin. He opened the door and was accosted by the delicious smell of greasy diner food and a blast of warm air from the central heating, which spurred an involuntary twitch of the lips; he used to go to these kinds of places all the time with Dean when Dad was away. Dean would always have a burger and eat it like a starving man who’d found nectar and ambrosia lying by the side of the road, an expression of pure enjoyment on his face as though he had waited all day for this. Sam would watch him over his own mac and cheese, admiring his gusto and wishing they could spend every day like this. 

 

Sam stood awkwardly in front of the doorway and looked around. He spotted Dean right away; hidden in the end booth (they always used to pick the end booth) with his back to Sam. Sam would have known that spiky head of hair anywhere, and the characteristic way in which Dean turned his head to bite off just that bit too much of the burger had his heart hammering in his chest. Either it really was his brother, or some demon had spent a long time studying to become his perfect replica.

 

Slowly, he advanced towards the man. As he came closer, Dean turned to look at him and their eyes locked. Dean smoothly uncoiled from The Burger Appreciation Position (as Sam had always jokingly thought of it) and shot up from his seat, burger forgotten, then pulled his brother into a fierce bear hug. Sam was full of regret, longing, relief, joy - too many emotions to deal with. He didn’t know what to say.

 

After a long moment, Dean pulled back and grasped his little brother by shoulders to study his face, grinning. "I missed you, Sam. It's been too long." He gestured towards the booth and raised his eyebrows, inviting Sam to sit, which he did. Dean looked different. He wore full motorcycle leathers with the collar turned up, but the real change was in his face; it was somehow sharper, hyperrealistic among the soft browns and reds of the diner, his eyes burning feverishly bright as he studied Sam.

 

"Where've you been, Dean? Dad and I've been looking for you for months!" There was more that he wanted to say. Things like _'how could you leave without saying goodbye'_ and _'I needed you'_ and _'please don't ever do that again'_. Things which the hard Winchester men didn't say. He bit the inside of his mouth to hold in the flood.

“First things first, Sam; got a silver knife? Holy water?”

Sam was a little taken aback by the abrupt change of topic, but knowing Dean this was how it had to be; he handed over the things, taking the knife out of his inside pocket gingerly and looking around to make sure that no one noticed. The diner was sleepy with the smell of midnight pancakes, but there were still people there and he’d rather not be kicked off the premises or mistaken for a thug looking for trouble, especially by the rough-looking man slumped over a stale coffee a few tables over.             

Dean took the holy water, dunked it in an empty glass and gulped it down like medicine; Sam couldn’t help but stare at his adam’s apple bobbing in his long, stubbled throat as he drank and marvel at the fact that he was _here_ , and _real_. Next, Dean swiftly drew the knife across his palm, hissed slightly in pain and showed Sam the claret blood pooling there.

 

"Ok, now that the formalities are over I’ve got something to tell you, Sammy. It won't sound good, but you have to believe what I'm about to tell you, it's important- " Dean broke off with an expression of mixed surprise and mild annoyance on his face as the doorbell jangled and the clipped sound of formal shoes reached his ears.

 

 "Shit. They weren't supposed to find me here, not yet." He said this with an air of calm regret, in the same tone of voice which he used for spilt beer and vics that shouldn’t have died.

 

Sam glanced towards the entrance and saw two men in sharp black suits and sunglasses looking towards their table. Sam just had time to think ‘ _douchebags’_ at the indoor-sunglass-wearing thugs when Dean shook his head and muttered "son of a bitch" under his breath before slipping on his sunglasses and leaping into action, grunting "Follow me!"

 

He somersaulted over the table and fired off a round at the two agents, who ducked underneath the bullets with inhuman speed, gave each other a look and prowled towards the brothers. Dean was already running towards the back door with Sam hot on his heels; despite his surprise at Dean's uncharacteristic calmness when faced with demons (what else could they be?) and his niggling suspicion that his brother had gone rogue, his military instinct for following orders spurred him to follow unquestioningly as he slammed the back door behind them and thrust a bin at it to slow down their pursuers.

 

 Dean yanked open the door of the Impala parked round the back and yelled "Get in!". Sam obeyed, bewildered at the fact that the car he had parked round the front either had a double -right down to the licence plate - or had been moved without his knowledge. Somehow, he doubted the latter. Dean loved that car, and wherever he'd been, maybe he'd managed to fix up another car to look like it. 

 

The Impala's ignition growled and the vehicle bounded forwards towards the main road of the sleepy little town, rumbling and revving in a way that Sam hadn't even it could do. As Dean accelerated up the main street of the sleepy little town, rending the night apart with the scream of the Impala’s gunning motor, Sam yelled “Dean, what the hell!” and looked over to his brother for an explanation. Dean was hunched over the wheel like a race car driver, shiny leather stretched over his knuckles where they were clenched on the wheel of the car.

 

“Shooting in diners? Demons in suits? Where the _hell_ have you been this past year, man?! You don’t do this, what are you thinking? What have you gotten yourself into? Answer me godammit!”

 

Dean finally glanced at him with an exasperated expression on his face, and murmured evenly “There’s a lot I need to talk to you about, Sammy. Here and now is no longer safe, so that’s gonna have to wait. I’ll contact you again soon, but for now I’m gonna have to ask you to keep this a secret from dad. I’ll explain everything later.”

 

Dean glanced at the rearview mirror, in which a threateningly big black SUV was steadily growing larger, an expressionless man in shades just visible behind the wheel.

 

The car swerved hard and jolted onto the pavement, and before Sam had fully recovered from being slammed into his seat belt hard enough to drive the air from his lungs, Dean was out of the door and rolling over the hood of the car to sprint into – a phone booth? Sam stared at him in confusion, but just then the face of the homeless man who’d been slumped against the closest shopfront seemed to _melt_ and distort into the grim visage of the man who’d been chasing them from the diner, and he darted towards the phone booth with a deadly precision devoid of any effort or emotion.

 

Dean picked up the phone, and with only a moment to spare before his pursuer reached him, he bellowed “DRIVE!” and dialled. In an instant, Dean was gone, and Sam was left to scramble over to the driver’s seat, gun the engine and pull the car back onto the main road, still completely unsure of what had just happened. 

**Author's Note:**

> There may be smut in later chapters, so I'll change the rating if/when that gets published. Hope you enjoyed this, I sure loved writing it! You're very welcome to leave constructive criticism, comments or compliments to let me know how my first multi-chapter (hopefully it will be) fic is going.


End file.
